


Suicide Note

by orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:38:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a happy fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suicide Note

**Author's Note:**

> free pairing  
> written in: january 2013  
> Warning: death, self harm
> 
> Inspiration: Deep Insight - Hurricane Season

The rain is falling down heavy leaving wet traces like tears at my window. My forehead still leans at the cold glas following the raindrops as they hit the ground with my half closed eyes. I wish I could be one of them. Never alone, always with someone to hold your hand till the end when they hit the street or slowly glidding down in the gras to disappear into mud.  
I'm not able to stop the tears that ran down my face for the last hours. I already thought there are no more left to shed.  
But still I'm crying over you, over us, over all that has been.  
I should be in an interview or even went to the debrief but I'm not even sure if my voice is ever going to transfer any emotion then sadness and all that pain you put into my chest with your words.  
Stabbing the knife directly into the middle of the beating flesh.  
You watched my world break down with every word that leaves your lips with a small smile plastered over your entire face.  
Must have been fun huh?  
Must have felt good to you?  
Seeing a heart break down shaddered into tiny pieces with no glue to fix it.  
The paper in front of me is already swimming in my tears, barely readable what was written on it. But I don't care, these are my last words I have to say.  
No one will take the time to read it anyway cause no one cares.  
I can hear some of the other drivers in my head, when they assured me that everything is going to be better as we strolled through the paddock side by side, before a track parade.  
That the sun will shine again. Never was I able to believe their lies but always hoping they would be right.  
Always hoping they could save my life.  
No one saw the red tears I shed over all those years always hoping to feel anything at all when the whole world was packed like cotton woll. And even when they might have noticed something, They never said anything. They never cared, first of all of them you.  
YOU NEVER CARED!  
YOU NEVER GIVE A DAMN!  
The boiling rage I feel when your name crosses my mind fades into the numbness of my body. I'm at some point of no return. I do not care anymore. I don't want to see the sun go down one more day or rise up the next morning. I don't want to be here anymore cause it doesn't make any sense to wait for something that will never happen.  
You took everything with you when you left. All I ever was. All I ever wanted and after all just a shadow of my soul was resting in that body that was never good enough.  
Always too fat, always too ugly, too noisy or all those other complains and insults that were thrown on me for the last years. I was not fast enough. I fucked up one race, they booed. I cursed on Tv, they got a fit over it. I couldn't do anything right.  
No one ever regreted to treat me like shit. They made me to what I am now.  
I open the sleeves of my shirt and roll them up on my ellbows.  
I can not even count the endless red lines that spread all over my body. Little red smiles from head to toe. Some deep and ugly some small and barely noticeble. Every little one telling a story, leaving a reminding scar. Satisfaction for a few seconds without any further progress.  
I never changed the way I think, nor the way I act. I tried too often and failed to progress in any kind of way.  
I wanted to make everything right.  
I know the team spend hours of telling me to stop drinking. To waste my time locked up in my hotel room starring at the ceiling. I always said yes, replied like a roboter to satisfy their nerves and worries. I made my ways around the press pen, smiling into every camera.  
Then when they were gone I raised aonther bottle of vodka or whatever, never said no to anything when there was the slightest hope to make me feel alive.  
I always did what everybody wanted me to do, but it doesn't matter, cause it was never good enough. Never what they were hoping for, never what they wanted or the way they wanted me to do it. World champion, what does it even mean? Everybody's fucking darling?  
I write the last lines on the damp paper.

 _"Same old people, same old town_  
_Same old questions why_  
_People spending all their time_  
_Living without life"_

Will anyone ever understand what I tried to express with those lines? I guess they wouldn't know. No one of them ever felt so useless and worthless like me.  
I take a last sip from the bottle of vodka and let it shadder to the ground. The shardes remain on the floor and I do not care about them piercing my feet as I walk over to this nights hotel bed, leaving some smeared red foot prints on the white expensive carpet behind.  
They almost glow in the semi darkness like wildfire telling where I was going.  
I rest myself up against the headboard and listen into the silence.  
I haven't made any plans, it slowly developed itself. I pondered hours what would be the right way to end this existence cause I was at this point way to often. But I always was a coward to choose this egoistic way.  
I always had a little fire of hope in my chest that I will make it. Its gone now. No glimps in the darkness. I wanted to be 100% sure that there is no rescue, no way I need to put up with any disappointed faces standing at my hospital bed afterwards.  
Or crying while holding my hand that they might have payed more attention and see it all coming. Those words I have heared my entire life all too often and never anyone of them really mean it.  
I'd never said I want to die, never raised attention that those gloomy thoughts plastered my way of life everyday.  
Always playing the perfect farce.  
Being the driver everybody wants.  
Being the funny guy everybody likes.  
Being a joker, the roughly party maker full of joy.

Anything is made to be broken! I open the first bottle of painkillers.

Anything was never worth at all! I take some more.

No one ever been so useless! I sip another bit of vodka.

No one ever loved.... I can not even think this sentence to an end cause the tears spill down my cheeks once more making my sight quite blurry.

No one ever loved me. No one ever touched me the way you did. And I hate you with all my hate, and love you with it at the same time.

I open some more pills and wash them down with the vodka.  
Already feeling a little dizzy and fuzzy headed.  
Did I lock the door? I don't care.  
I always was a fagot and ever will be even when I'm dead. Thats what you told me besides the fact you were one too.  
I'm the nasty queer, the faker, the no one...the swag.  
A small laugh escapes my mouth and filled the silence of this room that is mine for this weekend. The race track not far away.  
I made sure that all the pill packages are empty till I finally watch the last left object on my nightstand.  
It shimmers in the barely lighted room. reflecting like a diamond, hard as a diamond but much more effective and nothing you only can have a good look on.  
This is not being another relapse, this is going to be the end of it all.  
Nothing left to appreciate in life, nothing to love.  
No more words to tell cause all those silent cries I screamed behind all those lies plastered on paper, none has ever recognized.  
This gearbox is broken and will never drive again. I tried for hours but not one bit of concentration was left to focus on bringing the car home, not in my mind and not in the simulator. No matter how hard I forced myself to. You took everything with you.  
They played it down with stress.  
The blade is shaking in my hand. I'm still not sure what leaves me from making the final move.  
I'm so sick of it all...the hoplesness is blooming in my chest ditching it's thorns into my heart and soul leaving it ripped open and bleeding.  
Still tears cover my face and spill down like wildfire to cover my shirt even more as I raise the razorblade to my left wrist.  
The pills are taking more and more effect of making me more and more dizzy and sleepily.  
With the last strenght I pull the blade across my forearm with full force and watch the skin gap open in disbelief as the first crimson comes to surface.  
Slowly glidding down my ellbow and indexfinger and dripping onto the white quilt.  
Too weak, not deep enough and I do not even feel anything. I push the blade deeper into the cut and pull it along my arm once more, deepening the cut to reveal more blood leaving my limp body shaken by tears.  
This is the end before it gets too serious.  
My bleeding hand shaking even more as I try to hold the blade to complete the assault on my body by cutting my other arm. I'm not sure if I made it cause my sight is getting darker with every wave of blood spilling over the bed by every move I made.  
This is the end. Nothing left to feel sorry for, nothing left to worry.  
I embrace the darkness I was waiting for so long. Leaving everybody behind.  
No more broken hearts.  
No more tears.  
No more sorrows.  
No more rescue.  
No more ever hurting love.  
Nothing left then a suicide note.


End file.
